3. Jet
Chapter 3
Jet
I loosen my tie as I let myself in the front door of my father’s house. Atlantic Airways has the most coveted runway slots, yet a strike by London Heathrow baggage handlers means I waited two hours for my suitcase after landing. I guess I should be grateful Logan Rich needed to push today’s meeting to tomorrow. It gives me time to go over figures for the rest of the day.
The house is quiet when I set my suitcase on the stone floor of the entryway. My father will still be at work at Atlantic Airways’ UK head office until this evening. I plan to freshen up, unpack, then head over there to check on the team.
First things first; a six-and-a-half-hour flight and a baggage delay means one thing… Coffee.
I walk toward the kitchen, alerted to shuffling and the sound of the refrigerator door being opened .
A long pair of legs greets me below the refrigerator door. I study the bright red toenails as one bare foot lifts to rub against the back of one calf.
“You’re younger than I expected.”
“Jesus! Fuck!”
The carton of juice jerks as she jumps in shock. Light-yellow liquid splashes out of it, soaking her white tank top.
“Were you drinking from the carton?” I grind my molars as I scan her from head to toe, pausing briefly on her red-hued hair.
“No.”
Her light blue eyes widen as I arch a brow at the scarlet lipstick ring around the rim of the carton.
“Fuck, okay, yes. You caught me.”
“And you cuss openly. Interesting,” I mutter.
Her brow furrows before she bends and scoops up the dropped cap from the floor. When she stands, the wet patch on her tank top sticks itself to her chest, revealing a red lace bra underneath.
“Well, I didn’t know you were coming today. You scared me.” She eyes me curiously, looking at my suit. “Unusual choice of work attire by the way.”
It’s a struggle to avert my gaze from the red lace as I say, “I could say the same thing about yours.”
She narrows her eyes like she’s trying to figure me out. “How old are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said I’m younger than you expected. How old are you? ”
I walk toward her, taking in her bare feet. I need to talk to my father about his recruits. She’s clearly unsuitable. What housekeeper walks around barefoot for a start?
“Thirty-three.” I extend my hand in greeting.
She eyes it before placing the carton on the counter. The second her wet, juice-covered fingers meet mine in a handshake, my jaw clenches.
“Thirty-three? Wow.” She whistles. “I see why you think I’m young. You’ve got a whole decade on me.”
I clench my jaw as her cool fingers coat mine in stickiness.
“It’s nice to meet yo—”
“You’re twenty-three?” I scoff. “What experience do you have?”
Something akin to defiance flashes in her light irises.
“Enough. What experience do you have?”
I suck in a breath through my nose. I might be tired and cranky from the flight, but that doesn’t change the fact my father has hired a brat with a bad attitude as his new housekeeper. One who doesn’t realize she’s doing the equivalent of poking a bear right now.
I take the cap from her other hand and screw it back onto the carton, giving her a pointed look.
“Glasses are in that one.” I point at a cupboard, then walk to the sink to wash my hands.
When she snorts, my hands ball into fists beneath the running water, and I glance at her.
“Do the flowers grow better if you wear a tie to water them?” She leans against the counter with her arms folded. The position accentuates the red lace beneath her wet top.
“You think I’m the landscaper?” I dry my hands and turn to face her.
Her plump lips part, and she blinks, confused. “Aren’t you?”
Heat fires across the back of my neck as my irritation spikes. “Regardless of who you thought I am, one, next time use a glass. Two, don’t cuss while working, and three—”
“Who the fuck are you?”
I stare at her. I should fire her now. Save my father a job.
She inches away from me slowly, her eyes darting to the open doorway.
“Robbers don’t let themselves in with a key,” I snap, placing my hands onto my hips.
“Then who—?
“Jet.”
She looks at me blankly.
“Jet Grant,” I snap.
“Oh.” She frowns, pausing her creep toward the door. “Magnus said you live in LA?”
The way she calls my father Magnus so easily when she’s still in her first week of employment has my shoulders tensing, besides walking around barefoot, wearing a tank and shorts as if she lives here. What’s she going to be doing after another week? Registering this address for her personal mail? Walking around nude ?
She shivers under my scrutiny.
“I do. But there are these things called planes.”
“I’m well aware what a plane is,” she snaps.
She continues to watch me as I walk to the coffee machine and flick it on. She’s my father’s terrible hire. Not mine. He won’t be happy if I let her go, despite how tempted I am. Although I’ll be making my recommendation the minute I see him.
I roll my neck side to side, cracking it.
“That’s bad for your bones.”
I repeat the move, forcing another deep crack to ring out in the air.
“And telling me what to do is almost always bad for the other person,” I quip, abandoning all sense of civility. I’m tired, under-caffeinated, and have a natural aversion to slackers and freeloaders.
This new housekeeper, young and pretty, or not, is testing my already thin patience.
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Rude to guests.”
I hover over the coffee machine’s button.
“Guests…” I echo before clearing my throat. “You never told me your name.”
I don’t turn around, unable to see if those pouty lips are wearing a smug smile from uncovering my faux pas. Maybe she hasn’t noticed it.
“Ava,” she says.
I whirl around. “Ava?”
“Roberts.” She raises her chin, holding my eyes .
I narrow mine in response as I regard her. “I see.”
“Your father told you I was staying, right?”
I busy myself making my coffee, ignoring her question. To admit that he didn’t will be admitting that I thought she was someone else. And that I was wrong.
And I’m never wrong.
“I’ll keep out of your way. I’m going to unpack and then head into the office,” I say, turning with my coffee in hand.
“Okay. Well, I usually work in the pool house anyway, so…” She shrugs as I blow the steam away from my cup and take a sip.
She looks at me as if she’s waiting for me to ask what work she’s doing. But I don’t care. I don’t have time to care.
“Then I guess we’ll not see much of each other during my visit.” I eye her over the rim of my cup.
“No. I guess not. It was… interesting meeting you.” With that, she leaves the room.
The moment she’s gone I pull my phone out of my pocket and text dad.
Me: You didn’t mention you had a guest staying?
Dad: Ava’s a friend’s granddaughter. You’ll love her. Nice girl. She’s just graduated and needs somewhere to stay until she finds a job.
I grunt and pocket my phone. A poor, bratty freeloader. Just who my father needs in his house .
I deposit my mug in the dishwasher and grab my suitcase, heading straight to my room. I may not live here anymore, but my father insists I always have a base here, should I need it.
I walk into the dressing room, placing my suitcase down. There’s an unfamiliar scent in the air, lemony, but also… aquatic. It must be a new air freshener the real Margaret uses.
I open my suitcase and take out the zip-bag containing my underwear, placing it on the drawers as I slide the top one open. The usually empty velvet interior is filled with meticulously arranged pieces of lace, silk, and pearls.
I hook a crystal strand over one finger and lift it, revealing an intricate lace bodysuit that’s light and soft as a feather, swallowing as the unknown scent intensifies, now mixed with something rich and decadent. Like caramel and…
I lean a little closer and inhale.
“What the fuck?”
The material is ripped from my hand in an instant. Blazing blue eyes meet mine.
“Why are you touching my lingerie?”
I jerk back, my eyes dropping over her water-droplet coated skin as she squares up to me wrapped in a white towel.
“This is my room.”
“And these are my things.” Ava wedges herself in-between me and the drawers like she’s protecting them .
“Why are your things in my room?”
“Margaret said this was my room.”
I stare at her, wondering where she got such a smart mouth. She’s obviously grown up getting away with being a brat. A parent who was poor at discipline, perhaps? One who didn’t teach her respect.
“Don’t hitch your brows at me like that. Like I’d choose your room if I’d known you were coming back from LA.” She spits LA out like it tastes sour as she moves to grab an old, battered suitcase and flings it open on the floor.
She huffs as she holds her towel around her and approaches the drawers. Despite the tension radiating from her, her movements soften as the top drawer slides open.
She starts to place the contents of the drawer inside the suitcase. She does it carefully, lovingly, a sereneness washing over her features as she curls her fingers around each item.
“That’s expensive lingerie for an unemployed student,” I say, spotting a price tag on a deep mocha-colored thong in the drawer.
“I’m a graduate. And what exactly are you implying?” She whirls to face me, dropping the pink panties in her hand on the floor.
Manners make me bend to retrieve them. Her fingers brush mine as she takes them back, a blush creeping up her neck.
“It’s merely an observation,” I reply coolly, my eyes trained on her as she resumes her packing .
“Yeah, well… I save up, okay?” she huffs. “I like them. They’re lucky,” she adds, eyeing me warily.
“I don’t want to know.”
She glares at me. “I mean for exams and things.”
“I’m quite sure that I don’t know,” I reply, wondering why I’m still standing here watching her.
Why I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Why? Been that long since you had an exam, you forgot what nerves feel like?” she tuts.
I’m not sure if she’s making quips about my age to rile me, or whether she’s just plain ignorant about what comes out of her mouth. Someone should teach her some manners.
I clear my throat and push my hands into my pockets.
“I meant I don’t know what it’s like to have lucky panties. I prefer to wear boxers.”
She pins widened eyes on mine. I tip my head to one side, enjoying the way her pulse flutters in her neck.
I like surprising people. Having control. I crave it. I pride myself on my self-control, my restraint. Calmness washes over my gut as her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, unsure what to say.
She might be a brat, but I’m the one with the upper hand. I will always be in control, no matter how much she chooses to push me.
I take the panties from her. She stares at me as I place them back inside the drawer gently, arranging them perfectly, just the way they were. I run the back of my pointer finger down over the fabric, noting the delicate gold waterlily print on the silk.
That’s the scent I couldn’t place.
Waterlily.
“Despite our initial introduction, I’m a gentleman who knows exactly how to treat guests .” I slide the drawer shut, enjoying the way she jolts a little as I lean closer. “Enjoy this room. For as long as you’re a guest of my father’s, it’s yours.”
She sucks in a small sharp breath but remains silent.
I turn and pick up my suitcase, sensing her eyes on my back as I leave.